The young woman effected a pout, and Rebecca smiled.
“What’s your name?” Rebecca asked.
“My name is Candy,” the young woman said with a flirtatious smile. “So anytime you come in here and you want a girl to have a drink with you, you just ask for Candy. Unless I’m with Billy Lovejoy. Billy is my beau. That’s him standing over there.” She pointed to the young man who was isolated from those who were gathered around Frank Lovejoy. “He and Frank are brothers, but believe me, they aren’t anything alike.”
“I would certainly hope not,” Rebecca said.
“Honey, you haven’t told me your name yet,” Candy said.
Rebecca chuckled. “You are going to be awfully embarrassed when you find out who I am,” she said.
The young woman looked puzzled. “Well now, honey, who are you?” she said. “I know you are young, but ...”
“Is there someone here named Janie Davenport?” Rebecca asked.
“Janie Davenport?” Candy answered. “Yes, she is here. She owns the place. That is, she and her husband own the place.”
“Would you please tell her I would like to see her?”
“Miss Janie doesn’t do any entertaining, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s all right. I think she’ll see me, when she finds out who I am.”
“Well that’s just it, honey. You haven’t told me your name yet.”
“My name is ...” she started to say Rebecca, but remembered that in the letter her mother had referred to her as ‘Becca.”
“My name is Becca,” she said.
“Becca?” Candy said. “All right, Mr. Becca, I’ll tell her.”
Rebecca took off her hat, then let what hair she had left after having cut it, fall to her shoulders.
“And it’s not Mister,” she said. “It’s Miss.”
“What?” the bargirl gasped.
Rebecca laughed again. “I told you were going to be embarrassed.”
Candy left, and less than a minute later returned with a woman. Rebecca had never seen her mother in her entire life, not even a picture. And other than her father saying, rather vaguely, that “She was pretty,” she had never even heard her mother described. But she could tell by the anxious expression on the face of the middle-aged woman, who was now hurrying across the saloon floor toward her table, that this was her mother.
“Becca?” The woman said, hesitantly, hopefully. “Are you my Becca?”
“Yes, Mama,” Rebecca said. “I am your Becca.”
When the two women embraced, Rebecca did not believe she had ever been squeezed quite so hard.
“What—what are you doing here?” Janie asked.
“I came to visit you, Mama,” Rebecca said, the word ‘Mama’ sounding strange to her. “Didn’t you ask me to?”
“Oh, child,” she said. “Oh, my darling, child. Yes, I did ask, and I hoped and prayed with all my heart that you would do it. But I never thought, I just never thought ...”
Janie was unable to complete her sentence.
That same day, Rebecca moved in with her mother and stepfather. They had an apartment over the saloon that Oscar Davenport owned. Oscar hung a curtain to separate the alcove from the parlor, and that became Rebecca’s bedroom. The alcove was little larger than the bed itself and sometimes, when she felt that it was a little too close, she would think of her spacious bedroom back home and wonder if she had made a mistake.
No. She hadn’t made a mistake. It had not been, and was not her intention to permanently absent herself from Live Oaks. This was a temporary arrangement, so she was certain she would be able to stay here for a while.
Shortly after she made her living arrangements, which included working for her mother and Oscar, Rebecca sat down to write two letters, one to Tom and one to her father.
Since Rebecca knew that her father would be picking up both letters, she had Candy address the one to Tom, so that her father would not recognize the handwriting. Then she made arrangements with someone to mail the letters from two locations other than Dodge City. In that way, she hoped to keep her location a secret, both from her father and from Tom.
When Big Ben Conyers picked up the mail at the post office, he found a letter from Rebecca. There was also a letter to Tom, and his first thought was that it, too, would be from Rebecca, but when he checked the handwriting it was obviously different. Also, the postmark for his letter was New Orleans, whereas the postmark for the letter to Tom was St. Louis.
He stuck both letters in his inside jacket pocket then drove the surrey home. By the time he got home, the letter felt as if it weighed ten pounds, so anxious was he to read it.
When Mo came to take care of the surrey, Big Ben gave him the letter that was for Tom.
“Mo, here is a letter for Tom that I picked up at the post office. Would you give it him, please?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Conyers,” Mo said. “Soon as I get this surrey took care of.”
“Thanks,” Big Ben said. He almost bounded up the stairs, and was calling out loud to Julia even as he opened the front door.
“Julia,” he called as soon as he got inside. “Julia, we got a letter from Rebecca!”
Big Ben went into the parlor, then settled into the oversized leather chair that had been built to accommodate his bulk. Then, pulling the letter from his inside jacket pocket he held it until Julia came into the room.
“Oh, thank God, Ben!” Julia said. “That means she’s all right. Read it aloud, please.”
Big Ben nodded, then taking the letter from the envelope, began to read aloud:
